


hate to see you leaving (fate worse than dying)

by schlattcoindealer



Series: Alcohol Makes You Boring [Wilbur-Centric Alt. FD!AU] [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Family Dynamics" AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Relapsing, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Provides a Hug, Underage Drinking, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlattcoindealer/pseuds/schlattcoindealer
Summary: "The tension in the air was so thick, Tommy thought he might be able to cut it with a knife.He wasn’t to blame for it, of course. If anything, it was Wilbur’s fault. For the past month, his brother had been basically AWOL, only emerging from the confines of his room to eat at midnight and maybe shower. While Phil and Techno expressed concern for him, from what Tommy could tell, they couldn’t seem to manage to coax him out of his hardened shell, and so they’d resignedly left him to do whatever he pleased."--During an argument, Wilbur accidentally lets slip the truth of his declining mental state to Tommy, and runs away to the train station in order to seek a final solution to his problems. To his surprise, his brother chases after him, determined to bring him home safely.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Alcohol Makes You Boring [Wilbur-Centric Alt. FD!AU] [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000707
Comments: 12
Kudos: 443





	hate to see you leaving (fate worse than dying)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow the tags' warnings. (Bet you're happy there's comfort this time!)
> 
> Heavy Trigger Warnings for:  
> \- Past Underage Alcoholism  
> \- Past Underage Drinking  
> \- Relapsing  
> \- Suicidal Thoughts
> 
> If you're sensitive to any of those things, SKIP THIS FIC. You can't avoid them here.  
> Oh, and a timeline clarification, now this is in the AMYB series - this is 2 years after part 1.  
> Thank you. Enjoy!
> 
> \-- Title from "Jubilee Line" by Wilbur Soot.

The tension in the air was so thick, Tommy thought he might be able to cut it with a knife.

He wasn’t to blame for it, of course. If anything, it was Wilbur’s fault. For the past month, his brother had been basically AWOL, only emerging from the confines of his room to eat at midnight and maybe shower. While Phil and Techno expressed concern for him, from what Tommy could tell, they couldn’t seem to manage to coax him out of his hardened shell, and so they’d resignedly left him to do whatever he pleased. 

It took him weeks to dare to emerge from that room, tired and exhausted and visibly not alright. Tommy had immediately offered for them to go out, maybe go for a walk. He didn’t entirely understand why his brother was trying to distance himself from everybody, so he’d come to the conclusion that all he really needed was a bit of a brotherly chat. Some banter, maybe a bit of light-hearted teasing. In hindsight, Tommy should have been a little more aware of the weight his words held.

“You know,” the teen had said, ten or so minutes after they left the house, intending to make a throwaway comment. “It’s about time you came out of your room. Thought you’d died, or something. Phil wasn’t happy.”

Wilbur looked away pointedly, eyebrows furrowing nervously. His face seemed to pale slightly as he processed Tommy’s words. “I’m not obligated to go outside, you know.” he replied, a cold, defensive edge to his words. 

“That’s not true,” Tommy protested. “We were worried about you. You can’t just scare us like that.”

“It’s not my fault you felt that way,” his brother bristled as he strode ahead, defensive nature emerging as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I’m an adult. I can do as I please.”

That irritated Tommy a little. He frowned, speeding up in order to stay in line with Wilbur’s steps. “Well, no. Just ‘cause you’re technically an adult doesn’t mean you can ignore us for a month.” he retorted, his rising frustration seeping into his voice. “We’re your family. We’re gonna be worried about you, idiot.”

“You shouldn’t be worried for me,” Wilbur spoke, his pace picking up as if he were attempting to run away from his younger brother. “Don’t waste your time on me. There are more important things in life.”

“Wh- I don’t understand you, Wilbur!” Tommy spluttered, half-running just to keep the pace now. “Did you just come out of your room to blame us with – for utterly baseless shit? We - You’re supposed to be the oldest, but come on, man, you spent a whole month in your bedroom!” He probably shouldn’t be provoking the discord further, but the teen couldn’t stop himself in the haze of the argument, his words stumbling over each other as he got more and more riled up. He couldn’t believe his brother had holed himself away, and then – and then, he was blaming his family for caring about him! Surely Tommy wasn’t in the wrong for being pissed off. 

Judging by the darkening expression on Wilbur’s face, he wasn’t very happy either. His fingers seemed to pale at the tips as his grip on his sweater tightened. “You have no room to judge me, Tommy,” he retorted, and the teen flinched at the surging anger in his voice. “You’ve got no fucking clue what this past month has been like for me.”

“For you?” Tommy bit back without thinking. “Who - What about us? We’ve had to field all your shit since you decided you didn’t want to see us anymore!”

“Read the room, Tommy!” Wilbur snapped despite himself, voice raising in the heat of the argument. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come out with you. You’re too fucking insensitive! I should be allowed the freedom to face my issues alone!”

Deep down, he knew his brother was only spitting rude-sounding comments out of some degree hurt and anger, but that didn’t stop Tommy from recoiling, a raging fire lighting itself in his chest. He wanted so badly to hit something, to curse and swear and rant at the image of his brother. He'd been so worried for so long, and for what? 

“I’m reading the room perfectly fine!” Tommy yelled, hands balling into fists at his sides. “You’re such a prick, you know? Acting like you’re the only one that matters! You - Are you even a part of our family anymore? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were fuckin’ - depressed or some shit!”

“Well, I guess you don’t know me, then!” Wilbur snarled, his hostility peaking in the sudden declaration. Time seemed to slow down as the words sank in, and for the first time since they’d left the house, Tommy caught a glimpse of his brother’s face. His eyes were slightly red, glistening with unshed tears. Dark circles wrapped around his lower eyelids, somehow more drastic than they’d been while inside.

It hit Tommy all at once what he’d just done, but before he could get another word out, Wilbur had already begun to back away, visibly trembling as the realisation sank in for him as well. In a split second, he was off, turning and tearing off down an alleyway faster than the teen had ever seen him go before.

Oh, God. He’d fucked up. 

\--

Wilbur wasn’t sure where he was going. He could feel his heart beating erratically, its rhythm of chaos only serving to send him into a further state of panic.

He’d fought with Tommy. This was the first time he’d dared to show his face after weeks of shame and self-loathing, and he’d already gotten into an argument with his youngest brother. He hadn’t expected the inevitable rejection to sting so much, and yet it did, feeling more like a stabbing pain that bloomed through his chest and wrapped around his body, almost crippling the teen as he sped down the winding streets of London. 

He’d wanted to believe that he wasn’t alone anymore. That his family didn’t think of him as the burden he still knew himself to be. Apparently, he’d been wrong to hope.

God, he was a perpetual wreck, ever-frozen in a painful state of breakdown. Compared to his brothers, he was nothing. Compared to his father, he was nothing. They always had reasons for breaking, justified explanations and correct stances to back up their struggles. Wilbur couldn’t put a finger on what had caused his own. The foster system had left him broken and cold and empty, and while Phil had done a fine job repairing the pieces in the moment, the glue was finally starting to fall apart.

Maybe he’d just been spiraling for a long while, now, for longer than he could reasonably recall, and this was just the trigger to the dramatic nosedive finale. The thought of that made Wilbur shiver, a cold feeling manifesting in his chest. The inevitable crash at the end no longer looked so scary.

Sleep brought nightmares of abandonment and loss, dredged up memories of long-forgotten old foster homes welling in his mind uncomfortably. He knew that his past was long behind him, and that he’d found a good place to stay, but he couldn’t shake the fear that if he fucked up one too many times, he’d be out on the streets for real this time, homeless at the age of eighteen. 

Drinking helped to flush out the more vivid fears, at first. He still felt like shit while drunk, but he could cope somewhat. When Will was too intoxicated to think straight, he was at his emotional best, because it meant his mind would finally stop dredging up his years-old concerns and worries, too numb to grasp a topic and keep hold on it. Maybe it was an unfortunate parallel to his sixteen-year-old self’s answer to life, but it was reliable, and it was always there for him. The only issue with his preferred solution to sadness was that Phil refused to keep alcohol in the house due to his tentative sobriety, and that was a technically good choice on his part, though it did not dissuade his son at all. Wilbur knew that he still had a lasting problem – he just couldn’t find the energy to care enough to halt it.

Relapsing used to sound like the worst thing in the world – once, Wilbur had thought that even the smell of alcohol would make him nauseous after his tumultuous relationship with it in the past. Funnily enough, though, now it was probably the thing keeping him alive. Go figure.

Still, drinking only worked for the first two and a half weeks. Wilbur was surprised he lasted that long with it. He spent the majority of every day at least buzzed, sat locked in his bedroom and doing anything he could to take his mind off the ever-crushing sense of despair that weighed him down. Then, his routine went to shit when Phil found his hidden supply, stored away underneath the floorboards. That was when he and Techno began trying to talk him into coming out properly – Wilbur tactfully avoided every attempt. They were disappointed in him, he knew it. He’d relapsed despite his better interests, and they hated him for it. Once again, he was a burden, and they wanted him out.

Regrettably, he spent the last week completely sober after three weeks of constantly running from his problems – and by God, it was the worst week. Wilbur knew the effects of alcohol withdrawal well, and he was thankful he’d only been relapsing for nearly three weeks, because if it’d been any worse, he likely wouldn’t have survived the transitional stages. He hated the loud silence of his room, but never had the energy to put music on, left alone with his racing mind that loved to remind him just how little he belonged in this household.

He hated being drunk. He hated being sober. Was there any way to win?

Wilbur turned a sharp corner, exhaling shakily. It misted in front of him, a visual reminder of the ever-approaching British winter. He shivered, drawing in on himself. As much as he longed for the warmth of the house, he knew he couldn’t go back now. Not to Tommy, who hated him. Not to Techno and Phil, who resented him. They’d be happier without him, no doubt. So, he kept walking.  
Noises of commuting workers snapped him out of his thoughtful haze, and Wilbur realised with a snap to attention that he’d unconsciously ran straight to the train station. He remembered the lyrics to one of his vent songs with a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair.

[There’s a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line. ...  
... There’s a reason they fail.]

Phil had picked up on the emotional turbulence in the lines of Jubilee Line as soon as he’d written it. Wilbur wasn’t much of a songwriter, but writing the lyrics had helped him a lot at the time. They’d helped him stave off any of his residual desires to disappear. Phil had been proud of him when he reluctantly revealed that detail to him, and they’d hugged, the gesture a silent promise never to abandon each other.

The memory was sour now, though, as Wilbur found himself silently wandering through the stations like a ghost. Despite his promises, Wilbur had become a burden again, and Phil had no doubt lost his faith in him. The promise was null and void, he thought with a sigh. He’d be doing Phil a favour by succeeding in disappearing from his life for good this time. He wouldn’t fail where his sixteen-year-old self had.

The noises of trains thundered over the chattering now, and Wilbur felt himself shiver. There was something awfully cathartic about being in the train station. Usually, Phil liked to avoid taking the train – he claimed he would rather walk, but Wilbur knew he was the cause for that lifestyle change. After all, using the train was the key method of transport in London. Only a moron would willingly downgrade from it.

His fate would be decided as soon as he joined the rush hour crowd. His solution would finally arrive the moment he had the courage to step forward.

Wilbur could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he stood there, trying to will himself to take the first step. He was so close to fixing everything. To finally quit being a burden. His family would know peace. All he needed to do was move forward. 

…

…

“Wilbur!!”

Tommy’s voice sounded loud and clear over the crowd of people, and Wilbur’s head shot around, mind snapping back to cold clarity. His brother sounded distressed – why was he even here? Had he… followed Wilbur? No, surely not. It was only twenty minutes ago that he’d been venting his anger at him, swearing like there was no tomorrow. Tommy hated him, right?

Almost as if to counter that thought, familiar hands pulled him from behind, tugging him away from the crowd that could seal his fate and wrapping him into a tight embrace. Wilbur froze, not entirely sure how to process what was going on. Had he been saved? Why – what was going on?

“Tommy?” he asked aloud, voice strained and weak and tinged with faint embers of frustration. He hadn’t wanted for any of his family to witness what he was about to do. “Tommy, why are you here?”

“I don’t want you to go, Wilbur!” the teen replied, and Wilbur froze as he recognised the sound of crying coming from his brother. Tommy had his face buried in his back, holding onto it for dear life. “I.. I’m so sorry. I swear, I … I, please, please don’t go, Wilbur-!” His crying voice stumbled over his words, muffled by the way he buried his face into the fabric of his clothing.

Wilbur had to fight the urge to break down into tears himself, feeling his lower lip tremble pitifully.  
“I… I don’t want to go, Tommy,” he whispered. “I wish I could… I wish I could stay with you all.” The admission was raw and truthful, surprising even himself. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with his family, with the people that had saved him once and shown they could save him again.

Wilbur wanted to be saved.

“Then don’t!” Tommy continued, voice shaky as he tried to tug him further back. “Stay with us!”  
Shuffling to turn around, Wilbur caught a glimpse of his brother, eyes widening as he saw the familiar blonde hair nestled into his form. Suddenly, he felt his heart soften, a rush of protectiveness surging through him. He’d caused this distress by threatening to leave. He… Tommy wanted him to stay. His brother wanted him to stay.

Gently and awkwardly, Wilbur wrapped his own arms around Tommy, his grasp weak and tentative. The boy clutched on tighter, shuffling so his head was buried in the front of his sweater. He never thought he’d ever have a family that cared for him. He… he didn’t want to lose this. Not yet. 

Wilbur felt his shoulders shake as he let tears spill forward, clutching onto his brother for dear life. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so much – the guilt of leaving coupled with the guilt of being a burden. It was a tricky melody not even Wilbur knew how to perform – but with the help of his family, he might have a shot at it.  
“Tommy,” he began, almost choking on his own sudden rush of emotion, “I hope you can forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you – If you promise you’ll never leave us, big man. Please.” 

Raising a trembling hand to ruffle at his brother’s hair, he let a tentative smile grace his lips.

“I could never leave you, Toms. Promise.”  
This time, Wilbur intended to keep his promise to stay for good.

**Author's Note:**

> CRY
> 
> (As usual: If you see a typo, no you do not.)


End file.
